Midnight Excursions
by gentle.will.o.wisp
Summary: Ezra wakes up in the middle of the night feeling slightly less than stellar. Conscious or not, Kanan is more than willing to offer Ezra comfort. Fluffy sick-fic with SpaceDad Kanan Rated K for language


Ezra wakes up feeling like some kind of cross between banthashit and the rear end of a seriously pissed off tookah. Which isn't to say that this is the worst that he's ever felt in his life. _That title still belongs to the 'incident-with-the-fruit-which-shall-not-be-named_.' Still, his current state of malaise would rank within his current top ten moments where he would be more than happy to just roll back over and call the day forfeit.

With a groan which is one-part disbelief, two parts disgruntled teenager, Ezra tries to take stock of his body. His muscles ache in a tremulous kind way which seems to indicate a recent bout of angry Lasat wrestling and simultaneous participation in a session of one of Kanan's more brutal training days. Although, Ezra has no memory of doing anything particularly disparaging enough to Zeb in the recent past which would warrant the resulting beat down it feels like his body has taken.

Ezra scowls at that, well the incident which resulted in Zeb taking a nose dive into a gooey off world pond _may_ have warranted this kind of beat down, but Ezra is pretty sure Zeb had already forgiven him after he spent hours helping the Lasat get the sticky substance out of his fur.

Taking a deep breath, Ezra tries to continue his head-to-toe assessment. His head feels simultaneously too full and completely empty and his body is slicked in sweat despite the fact that he can't stop shivering.

The chronometer on his cabin wall tells Ezra that no human should be awake at this hour, but his aching body seems to have other ideas. With a sigh and a grunt, Ezra ratchets himself upright in his bunk and resigns himself to a likely sleepless remainder of the night. If history is anything to go by, then Ezra is probably in for a very unpleasant couple of days.

Illness is hardly a new concept for Ezra. Not when he's spent most of his childhood on the streets of Lothal where the conditions were far from sanitary or safe and nutrition was not so much a matter of _eat your fruits and vegetables _and more a matter of _hopefully I get to eat today. _Still, Ezra is uneasy, because this is the first time that he has been ill on the Ghost. It's the first time that he maybe (_hopefully-is-terrified-that-_) he won't be on his own battling discomfort and the inevitable despondency which comes from feeling like a piece of duracrete which got on the wrong side of one of Sabine's explosives.

Ezra jerks himself back into a semi-erect position. His mind had begun wandering and he and forgotten about his recent resignation towards consciousness. With a sigh he vaults himself off of the top bunk of his and Zeb's cabin and lands gently and quietly on his feet so as not to wake the Lasat. Or at least that's what he tries to do. Unfortunately, what occurs is more of a stumbled, thump-and-grunt descent to the ground, when a wave of impressive vertigo assaults Ezra halfway to the ground.

He tries to breathe through the dizziness, only panicking slightly when the edges of his vision go gray and fuzzing. He tries to center himself by feeling the cool metal of the Ghost's flooring beneath his palms and listening to the comforting ambience of her nightly functioning.

Ezra isn't sure at that point if he falls asleep trying to calm and center himself or if he actually loses the battle against the invading fuzziness, but he wakes up some time later in a ridiculous humped slump even more sore than he had been before. Zeb is still gently snoring in his bottom bunk behind Ezra and he thanks the stars for small mercies because he would never hear the end of it if the Lasat woke up to find an Ezra-puddle melted onto the floor of their shared cabin like some kind of melted teenage popsicle.

Ezra props himself back up and tries not to focus on the clamminess of his skin or the palpitations in his chest which might be indicating a more serious, and miserable, bout of illness. After a slow struggle to his sock-clad feet, Ezra makes his way to the galley taking short breaks on the way there because he's appreciating the silence of the Ghost and _not _because he's trembling and feels like he might become reacquainted with the floor face first.

He grabs a glass of water and sits gingerly at the kitchen's table debating his next move. There is a part of Ezra which desperately wants to wake his Master so that he can press his feverish forehead to Kanan's chest and seek comfort in both the steady rhythm of his heart and the crisp scent of sweat and linens which is his Master. He reaches out with the Force gently, brushing his mind against the bond he shares with Kanan, unconsciously seeking comfort under the guise of checking to see if Kanan is truly asleep.

A gentle responding brush of Kanan's mind helps to steady Ezra's hands and settle the more recent pounding in his skull. Kanan's mental touch is gentle and purposefully wraps Ezra in several layers of calm and comfort. Ezra breathes out a shaky breath, glad beyond words of the Force-willed link which binds Master to Padawan, Ezra to Kanan.

With a little start, Ezra realizes that Kanan isn't even awake. The comfort and calm his Master is radiating towards him is entirely unconscious. A sleep induced response from Kanan's side of the bond triggered by his Padawan's discomfort and unease. Ezra feels a smile tug at his lips. Because, yeah, he might feel pretty shitty right now, but his Master is bolstering him and protecting him even in sleep.

Even with Kanan's continued, unconscious efforts at dampening Ezra's discomfort, Ezra can feel the pounding in his head increasing in its intensity. He runs a trembling had through his sweat slicked, sleep-mussed hair, and frowns. He can't decide if his hand is unbearably cold or his forehead is indecipherably hot.

Stars, but the last time Ezra had felt this sick he had to have been nine or ten and fighting a nasty infection from a cut he had sustained while searching for his next meal on the streets of Lothal. Ezra feels his eyes water as he remembers the ensuing fear and pain which had lasted for days after that. He had been alone and quite probably dying. The isolation of being both a street-rat and an orphan pounding against his fever-stricken mind until he had wept for the fear and loneliness. A cool tear tracks down Ezra's cheek and he brushes is away angrily. _Kriff_, he forgot how damned emotional he gets when he has a high fever.

He reaches out again to his Master who is still soundly sleeping the sleep-of-the-exhausted. It had been a rough couple of day for the whole crew. Another mission gone wrong which resulted in high levels of tension, stress, and sleepless nights for the whole Ghost crew. Well, except maybe for Chopper, who seemed to revel in the chaos of missions gone to banthashit.

Ezra wavers, wanting to not be alone in his misery, but wanting perhaps even more for Kanan to get some actual rest for once. In the end, concern for his Master outweighs Ezra's own desire for comfort. He contents himself with the warmth which Kanan is still unconsciously sending through the bond. Ezra drains the last of his water and slowly rises to his feet trying to prepare his mind and body, if not for a restful night's sleep, then for at least a few hours of meditation before another day begins.

At least that had been his intention, but Ezra's body had apparently gotten complacent on him while he had sat drinking water and basked in the gentle comfort of his Master. The world starts to go fuzzy for the third time in less than as many hours and Ezra feels his knees wobble. _Kriffing _fever and his _kriffing _inability to make his legs work like they're supposed to.

A moment of frustration has Ezra doing something probably a little less than wise and he forces his body to take steps even when it is clearly telling him that it is not quite ready to be moving. The pounding in Ezra's head ratchets up another notch and _how in the stars were there tookas beating drums in his head. _Another step forward has Ezra's stomach also rebelling and he has to swallow both bile and excess saliva which is pooling in his mouth.

But damn, does Ezra hate puking. He's not sure if it's some deep seeded complex from living on the streets and knowing that he needs every damn calorie he can keep or if it's an innate human dislike of revisiting a meal which was much better the first time around. As Ezra has to fight back another round of bile, he can help neither the whimper that escapes his throat nor his regret in choosing not to wake Kanan.

The tookas in Ezra's head are no longer playing drums, but instead actively batting his brain from one side of his skull to another. Ezra tries to fight gorge for a third time, but cannot stop himself from expelling what little food he had eaten for dinner. He can feel his back and abdomen muscles spasming and clenching as he retches a second and then a third time.

It is at that point in time that Ezra realizes that on top of the indignity of puking on his sleep shirt, the violent motions of forceful expulsion combined with the increased pounding in his head, has resulted in a barely-there ability to hold on to consciousness. And isn't that the cherry on top of this wonderful late light excursion, he's quite honestly about to pass out into his own pile of sick. He tries to breathe through his mouth, gasping and gagging, and slowly losing his fight against gravity despite his valiant efforts.

Ezra can feel himself start to pitch forward, but instead of the expected and unpleasant descent into dinner round two, Ezra is caught in strong, muscled arms which wrap around his chest and hold him upright.

"I've got you Ezra. I've got you," the arms are strong, but the voice is gentle. And kriff pride, Ezra is so happy to have Kanan there that he lets out something between a whimper and an aborted giggle.

Kanan's arms just tighten around him in response and the bond between them pulses with concern and perhaps just a small amount of amusement at the strangled giggle.

"You should have woken me Ezra."

And no, thank you very much, Kanan needs the rest far more than Ezra needs to be mothered. He opens his mouth to tell Kanan as much, but slams it shut again as his stomach muscles start to clench.

"Steady Ezra, steady," Kanan soothes. Gently rubbing Ezra's back with the hand which isn't supporting his chest.

"Let's get you changed and back in bed." Kanan slowly and gently adjusts his hold on Ezra so that he can get an arm beneath his knees and lifts him gently.

Ezra whimpers again when the change in elevation and orientation causes his head to spin like a demented carousel. Kanan soothes him through their bond, somehow deadening the link between Ezra's mind and body so that the swishing movement of Kanan down the hall doesn't seem to effect Ezra as much as it should. And isn't that a neat trick, Ezra thinks. He is definitely gonna make Kanan teach him that once he's feeling better.

Ezra smooshes his cheek against his Master's chest and feels himself relax in time with the beating of Kanan's heart. For the first time tonight, Ezra knows that it's going to be okay. His Master will make sure of it. Will make sure that _Ezra _will be okay. Some of what Ezra is feeling must leak through to Kanan because fondness and a surprisingly _fierce _protectiveness is washing Ezra's mind in a swath of contentedness. Because if Now-Ezra had told Young-Sick-Ezra that one day when he was too ill to walk or think or _breathe_, he wouldn't have to lie alone on the cold metal floor of his communications tower afraid that in the coming days he wouldn't wake up at all, and that he would instead wake up in his Master's bed wearing one of his old sleeping shirts and tucked against his broad chest, well then Young-Sick-Ezra probably would have called Now-Ezra something between delusional and erroneously mislead. In this one regard, however, Ezra is quite happy to prove Young-Sick-Ezra completely wrong.


End file.
